by Rebecca York
“Certainly not!” She pointed to another doorway, and Karen saw a treatment room beyond. In it was a salon chair and a padded table.
“We’ll start getting you ready.”
“You said you had some clothes for me?”
“Later. Lie down on the table.”
“For what?”
“The master wants your pubic hair shaved.”
Karen sucked in a sharp breath. The look might be popular, but she’d never liked it. “Why?”
“Lie down. Unless you want me to call the guards back to help hold you still.”
“No,” she whispered as she climbed onto the padded table and closed her eyes.
“Then later we’ll make you look pretty for the people in the Tropical Lounge. I have a butterfly ornament you’ll love.”
oOo
In a room not far away, a group of men sat in comfortable easy chairs facing a large flat-screen television. They ranged in age from their early forties well into their seventies. All had the satisfied aspect of men who were used to getting what they wanted—as long as they were willing to pay for it. No questions asked.
One of them took a drag on a fat Havana cigar and blew out smoke.
“She’s a real looker. That red hair is stunning. An unusual color. And it’s real, too.” He laughed.
“Lovely.”
“Where did you get her?”
“Her father did me a disservice.”
The questioner laughed.
“I loved the way her breasts looked in the shower when she raised her hands to wash her hair.”
“She seems so vulnerable. And frightened.”
“She’ll feel more vulnerable with her pussy shaved.”
“Who gets to fuck her first?”
Bruno Del Conte cut through the chatter, his voice brusque. “Nobody. Unless I decide on it. I have some other activities in mind for her.”
“The whipping post?”
“Perhaps.”
A gray-haired man licked his lips before speaking. “I’d like to see her tied down while two slaves arouse her.”
“Maybe she can’t respond with an audience.”
“With drugs, she will.”
“Okay. Yeah. Then untie one of her hands and make her masturbate in front of us.”
“Make the two slaves a man and a woman. Could we have that hot little Asian hairdresser as part of the scene?”
“While the new girl sucks the guy’s cock.”
“No, that’s going too fast. More fun to draw out her education in her new life.”
“Do you think she likes to stick her finger inside herself when she makes herself come?”
“Or touch her breasts? Got to untie two hands for all of that.”
“One of the slaves can play with her breasts while she does the cunt part.”
“A light whip across her nipples would be more interesting.”
“I’d like to see her in the mirror room, where she can look at herself from all angles while slaves oil her body—all over.”
Others made their own suggestions, revealing their sexual tastes.
A fifty-year-old man stood up abruptly, his face flushed, his breathing uneven and his cock pushing out the front of his slacks. “I’m going down to the fantasy floor. I want to look over the slave girls and pick out two. Have a group of them ready when I arrive.”
“Any other specifications?” Del Conte asked.
“They have a record of what I like.”
Del Conte watched him leave, his expression thoughtful. He’d started off on the assumption that he might sell Karen back to her father after putting her through some unpleasant experiences that she would never forget. Now it looked like it would be more fun to keep her on the ship, but he was certainly going to leave his options open.
He’d be giving up five million dollars in favor of fees from guests, but money wasn’t the real issue. It was revenge. Maybe the best way to make Hopewell suffer was to send him a series of videos that would make his hair stand on end.
The mention of hair gave him an idea. Picking up the phone, he placed a call to the beauty salon.
Anna picked up on the first ring.
“I want a lock of her hair delivered to my office. Put it in a plastic bag, along with some of her pubic hair.”
“Yes, sir.”
oOo
“We’re taking a plane to Fort Lauderdale right now,” Frank Decorah told Emma and Cole. I’ll come along to brief you.”
Cole winced. That was certainly getting things rolling at lightning speed, but he understood the urgency. Given the description he’d just heard, there was no telling what had already happened to Karen Hopewell on that damn ship.
The boss drove them to a small airport between Baltimore and Washington where an executive jet was waiting.
Cole was glad the boss was going with them because he still had a lot of questions. Which he hoped Decorah was going to answer.
The passenger cabin was laid out like a lounge, with comfortable seating around the bulkhead, facing inward. There was also a service area stocked with sandwiches, since they had skipped lunch.
Cole wasn’t very hungry, but he took apart a couple of rare roast beef sandwiches and ate the meat.
“What are you doing?” Emma asked.
“Low carb diet.”
“You?”
He shrugged and picked up one of the briefing folders that Decorah had put on the table in the center of the cabin.
It had the schematic of the ship, speculation about the specific activities in the entertainment areas, and a lot of information on Del Conte.
He was fifty-five and kept himself in excellent shape with regular workouts in his ship’s extensive gym. He’d gotten a degree in finance from the London School of Economics and used his inheritance from his father as a springboard to even greater wealth—often by criminal or at least questionable means. His floating resort was probably an outgrowth of his own sexual interests. And his need for control. Having a whole ship full of people who did his bidding reinforced his image of himself as a man of power.
He had never been married and never had a girlfriend who was with him for more than a few years.
Cole wondered he’d paid them off with a nice parting gift or if they’d ended up dead. It didn’t seem likely that any of them would dare to leave the guy—unless they went into hiding. But he didn’t voice that thought to Emma. She was looking unsettled enough as she read the report.
“When the ship is at sea, there are two ways for guests to arrive,” Frank said, interrupting Cole’s thoughts. “Chopper and hovercraft. No one is authorized to come in by air at the moment, which is another indication that something unusual is going on there.”
Emma nodded.
“Since I was pretty sure you’d be going to the Windward, I had a suitable wardrobe packed for both of you. You’ll be leaving for the hovercraft shortly after we land, so you should change into resort clothes now.”
Cole glanced at Emma. She looked tense but resigned.
Frank gave her the kind of critical look that Cole knew she detested. When he’d first joined Decorah Security, he had dug into her background. He knew her father had drummed old-fashioned values and morality into his offspring. He had also demanded more from his children than they could possible give. Her brother had responded by becoming a drug addict. Emma had gone the other way. She pushed herself to the max but bristled when anyone else pushed her too hard.
He also knew she had never had a serious relationship that had lasted more than a year, which suggested that she had a commitment problem.
He couldn’t argue with that. He had the same problem, only for a different reason. He liked his life fine the way it was, and the thought of settling down made his skin prickle.
“Try to act like you’re anticipating a good time,” Frank advised, speaking to both of them.
“Right,” she clipped out, standing up and reaching for the carry bag that the director indicated
. She took it to the head in the back and returned a few minutes later wearing white shorts that barely covered her ass and a halter top.
“I love being turned into a sex object,” she muttered as she sat back in her seat.
Cole understood her point, but he couldn’t help admiring the way the clothing set off her high breasts and long legs.
He took his own bag to the back and found lightweight tan slacks to go with his baby blue polo shirt. A lot more comfortable than Emma’s outfit.
Emma’s eyes went from Cole to Frank and back again. “What—exactly—is our cover?” she asked.
“We’re keeping it as simple as possible. Cole’s a wealthy playboy named Cole Mason who lives off the money he inherited from his rich parents. You have a little business that does custom detailing for luxury cars, mostly because you like to add weird stuff to your own vehicles.”
“Super.”
He looked at Emma. “You’re his current girlfriend. Like Del Conte, he hasn’t formed any attachments that last more than a few years.”
“He’ll check my background,” Cole muttered.
“Granada and Henderson have taken care of that. You’ve got a history he can look up on the Web. Starting with your getting kicked out of half a dozen private colleges.”
Cole winced.
“Use the rest of the time to read about yourself.” He turned to Emma. “You too. Briefly, you’re Emma Ray. Until a couple of months ago, you were a waitress in a cocktail bar in Denver. Cole came in and swept you off your feet. Or, at least, he offered you a lifestyle you couldn’t afford on your own. Like many women down through the ages, you saw the advantages of being the mistress of a wealthy man.”
“And what’s supposed to happen to me when he gets tired of the mistress?” Emma snapped.
“Maybe you can make it turn out like that movie—Pretty Woman.”
She snorted.
Cole kept his gaze focused on the briefing book, but he saw Emma clutch the edge of the folder. She hadn’t been assigned a very appealing role, but then neither had he.
They both concentrated on their own background material for the rest of the trip to Florida, except when Frank took Cole into the back of the plane for a short private conference.
“You know I’m hoping your special talents will bring Karen home,” he said.
“I figured. If I can pick up her scent, I can find her. But getting her out of there isn’t going to be so easy.”
“I hate that old cliché—I’m counting on you. But it’s true.”
“You’re not expecting me to turn into a wolf in the middle of one of Del Conte’s playrooms, are you?”
“Probably not. But maybe the wolf will come in handy.”
Cole nodded. He had a relationship with Frank that went deep. The Decorah chief had saved his life, then practically adopted him. Before Cole met Frank, he’d been content with his high school education. Frank had paid for college and graduate school, and Cole had discovered he liked using his brains as well as his brawn.
He’d learned a hell of a lot from Frank, and not just about the security business, although the man’s insights were the cornerstone of his own expertise. And he was always going to be grateful—for all of it.
As they came back, Emma gave them a long look. When neither one of them enlightened her about the private conversation, she went back to her briefing book, but he knew she was bristling at being excluded.
As far as he was concerned, the flight was over much too quickly.
They landed at a small airfield outside Fort Lauderdale, where a rental car was waiting. A supercharged Infinity sports model, as per Cole’s supposed rich guy—car freak—status.
Before they left for the marina where Del Conte’s hovercraft would pick them up, Decorah had a few more things to say.
“There’s a transmitter in Emma’s purse. In her lipstick. You won’t be able to send a message because that would give you away. But when you’re ready to leave, twist the bottom of the tube and it will send a signal to the boat we’ll have waiting to pick you and Karen Hopewell up.”
“What if they don’t get there in time?”
“You might have to swim away from the ship.”
“Oh great,” Emma muttered.
“You can swim, can’t you?” Frank Decorah snapped, and it was obvious that he was feeling the strain of the assignment.
“You know I’m a strong swimmer, but what if one of us is injured?”
“The other two will have to help get him or her to the boat.”
“You’re sure Karen Hopewell is comfortable in the water?” Cole asked.
“Her father says she can swim.”
They left the airport alone in the rental car, heading for the Windward private dock.
As he drove, Cole glanced over at Emma. “Did you like Karen?”
“Not a lot. I thought she was spoiled, but I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.” She paused, then went on, “Maybe she’s grown up since I knew her.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. ‘We should discuss our relationship,” he said in a tight voice.
When she jumped, he realized she thought he was talking about the fallout from the kiss in the utility closet. Which both of them wished had never happened.
“I mean—the relationship of the characters we’re playing. Cole Mason and Emma Ray.”
“Oh, right.”
He clenched his hands on the wheel, wishing they could skip this discussion but knowing he had to make things clear. “If the ship is set up for people who want to indulge their fantasies, that could be dangerous for you. I mean, you’re very attractive, and some other guy might want to . . .” He stopped and started again. “We’d better make it that I’m very possessive of you. That way, if Del Conte or anybody else wants to . . .” He stopped again and cleared his throat, “use you for anything . . . weird, I have a reason to object.”
oOo
Emma had been staring straight ahead. When she flicked her gaze to Cole, she was shocked by the expression on his face—something between determined and grossed out. Until then, she hadn’t realized how much he hated this assignment. But it was more than that. She also saw worry etched on his features, and it wasn’t for himself. He cared about her welfare, and that astonished her. She’d always thought of him as hard-bitten and self-contained. Apparently that was what he’d wanted her to see.
She had the sudden conviction that he’d been attracted to her all along—but he’d been fighting it. Why? Because he didn’t think an office romance was appropriate?
She longed to lay her hand over his and tell him everything was going to work out all right, but she couldn’t get the words past her suddenly tight throat.
Decorah was putting them into a very dangerous situation.
Cole could have bailed out. Or she could. But here they were together. Because they were both committed to rescuing a girl who’d gotten caught in the middle of something bad—through no fault of her own. It didn’t matter that she had known Karen, and Cole hadn’t. They’d both do their best to rescue her.
But what had Decorah said to Cole that he wanted to keep between the two of them? She’d like to ask, but she was afraid she wasn’t going to get an answer. And if she did ask, it was only going to increase the tension between them.
Cole broke into her thoughts.
“Another thing—we have assume that there are surveillance cameras all over the ship. Maybe even in our bedroom. Or at the very least that the room will be bugged.”
She dragged in a sharp breath. “Cameras in our bedroom? Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?”
He answered with a mirthless laugh. “Of course it is, but you’ve got to wrap your mind around Del Conte’s thinking. If some of his guests will pay to see what other guests are doing in private, why not take advantage of that? I mean, suppose you met someone in the bar and you wondered what he liked to do that he didn’t want to talk about. You could watch him.”
“If that’s the wa
y your mind works.”
“Remember, this is a place where all the rules of civilized society are out the window. Which is a good reason to have the security staff keeping tabs on everyone.”
“Lord, I didn’t think about all of that.” She turned toward him. “If we’re being watched, how do we communicate with each other?”
“Do you know Morse code?”
“No.”
“Too bad.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. It can come in handy. Like to tap dots and dashes on a partner’s hand.”
She grimaced. Too bad nobody had ever suggested she might need that communications method one day.”
Cole’s voice turned reassuring. “It’s okay. We’ll have to decide how to talk in private after we get there.”
She wished they could settle the problem now, but she knew that he was right. It was going to depend on the situation.
Her throat was suddenly dry, but she managed to ask. “And how much are we going to have to participate in the fun and games?”
“Do I know?”
“I guess not.”
He waited a beat before saying, “Obviously, I’m the dominant member in our relationship.”
“Huh?”
“I’m talking about the way we treat each other in our roles. I’m the one with the money and power. That means you do what you think will please me.”
“Now wait a minute.”
“I’m still talking about our cover story. How we treat each other on the ship in public—and in private.”
She gave him a hard look. “And suppose you’ve come here with me because you like to play the submissive sometimes. And this is a place you feel comfortable letting your hair down, where you buddies won’t cotton to your secret desires.”
His response was adamant. “Out of the question. I am not going to put myself in that position.”
“You’re young and fit. Being submissive might make you seem less threatening to Del Conte.”
He considered that. “You could be right, but I’m sure I wouldn’t be a very convincing bottom.”
“What the hell is a bottom?”
“A submissive.”
“You’ve studied this stuff.”